Late Night Musings
by Kazuhiro Ikeda
Summary: Mr. Pontellier finds himself awake one night - and deeply troubled.  An extra credit assignment for The Awakening.


**AN: This was originally for an extra credit assignment, but I enjoyed this so much that I want to make it a lot better. Advice is graciously appreciated.  
**

It was a warm summer night at the Pontellier Estate. The crickets sang to eachother as the fireflies danced among themselves in harmony, and the sound of the sea could be heard in the distance as it swept itself upon the beach. Mr. Pontellier took in the sight with faint jealousy. There was something so carefree about this night, yet he did not feel welcome in such an atmosphere. He took a long drag on his cigarette and sighed. As a child, it was a habit that Mr. Pontellier had never even dreamed of picking up. He knew that smoking was hazardous and for much of his life, he never understood why people did such a thing. Mr. Pontellier drew in another breath of tainted air. It was because of her that he smoked.

It had been twenty years since his mother had disappeared, and in those twenty years Mr. Pontellier had been exposed to the world bit by bit. His father continued to leave home. His trips, in fact, grew more frequent. He and his brother used to spend hours speculating their father's whereabouts. Each story would grow more and more extravagant and their gifts (sometimes lack of) would serve as a catalyst to their outlandish stories. One night their father was a scientist, the next, a detective; and he would travel the entire earth, from France to Panama, and everywhere in between. But as the years went by, Mr. Pontellier gradually became aware of his father's "secret". He was not searching for buried treasure, but was rather at his favorite bar, playing billiards with his friends. There were even rumors of another woman whom his father had been seeing. At that time Mr. Pontellier couldn't fathom the idea of another woman taking the place of his mother, but it was justifiable. There needed to be a female around the house, who would sew and care for them, and his mother's disappearance confirmed that she would not be there to fill that role...

Growing up without his mother had been a strange experience for Mr. Pontellier. His life did not seem to fit the mold that it was supposed to. Perhaps that was why he respected his father's wishes. The idea of marriage felt right to the young man. There was nothing more natural than a man and woman who would live together with their children and watch them grow before their eyes. Mr. Pontellier felt a sense of security at the very idea. It was normal - stable, even, and void of unpleasant surprises. Mr. Pontellier loved his wife, according to his father. The daughter of a wealthy businessman, she was just as young, with a delicate frame, and hands that were skilled in various hobbies, such as knitting and the piano. She was mannerly and soft spoken as well, and people were often delighted to speak with her. There was a certain charm about Mr. Pontellier's wife that allowed her to captivate anyone that she happened to come across. Mr. Pontellier was considered fortunate to be married to such a woman. He couldn't exactly disagree with the kind remarks made towards his wife, because they were to some extent true. He had married a remarkable young woman, but was he exactly fortunate? Mr. Pontellier inhaled more smoke from his cigarette.

The first couple of days with his wife were bliss. During that time, the two made frequent trips to the beach. His wife had a refreshing smile and seemed to regard Mr. Pontellier with much tenderness. Mr. Pontellier would hold his wife's hand and feel the wonderful effects of marriage. Everything seemed right in his world. After four months however, their marriage had obtained a new character. It was no longer bright and energetic as it had been when the two first met, but instead vaguely lethargic. Mr. Pontellier's wife was still just as radiant as she had always been, but something within her had changed. Perhaps it was her voice, which always shifted to a different, more dreadful tone when addressing her husband. Or perhaps it was the way she carried herself around him. She was her old, docile self with her friends, yet she would regard her husband as a stranger when she was near him - she probably treated strangers with more hospitality. Mr. Pontellier absentmindedly chewed the end of his cigarette.

Worst of all, she would not look at him. It was as if his wife did not want anything to do with him, which actually wasn't too difficult to sympathize with. Mr. Pontellier could not lie to himself. The idea of marriage was appealing, but was perhaps too appealing. In those four months a new feeling developed that Mr. Pontellier had despertately tried to suppress. He tried to escape it by visiting various bars and allowing Chopin and Horowitz to captivate his soul. To his horror, the visits gave Mr. Pontellier much comfort and further enticed him to leave the house more frequently. Was he any better than his father? It was sometimes not wise to seize a opportunity as soon as it was given, he openly thought. He did not want to believe it. He refused to believe it. However, denial would only make the situation worse. He inhaled deeply.

Mr. Pontellier shifted his thoughts to the conversation that he had with his brother a week ago. Their mother had been the topic of discussion. Raoul initiated the conversation with a question. "Etienne, are you happy?" Mr. Pontellier was startled by this question, but answered with a lie that seemed almost as natural as a true statement. Raoul only frowned and then brought up their mother. "Do you miss her?" It was obvious that they both did. Her disappearance was rather unpleasant to encounter after their long stay in New York. The two formulated reasons as to why their mother left, as they had previously done with their father's mysterious trips. "Perhaps she was not happy," Mr. Pontellier said more to himself than to his brother.

Tears welled in Mr. Pontellier's eyes, but he fought them back. It was unlike a gentleman to cry over something so insignificant. Instead, he inhaled the smoke of his cigarette, deeply, and did not think. He only stared out at the sea in the distance, allured by the faint sounds of the waves, and wondered, 'What would mother have done?'


End file.
